A Bump in the Road
by jkkitty1
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft have worked things out but one drunken night with John could destroy everything. Reposting this as I posted in HTML by mistake. Sorry for those who tried reading this before.
1. Chapter 1

"Why do I have to change my mattress and move my room around? I like my mattress and room as it is," Sherlock whined as Mycroft and Greg stood in his bedroom next to a wrapped mattress. They planned to create more space in the room.

John had informed Sherlock earlier he wouldn't be home until morning which meant the brothers could have a night by themselves in 221B. Mycroft knew it would make his brother happy to share his home with him instead of them always going to Mycroft's.

"Because if you want me here tonight and occasionally in the future, I need a firmer mattress than you have. Now you can either help Gregory and I place it on the bed, so we can spend a lovely night or be woken at the crack of dawn by the men putting the new security system in my place."

Looking at the grin on Greg's face, Sherlock quickly said, "I'll help."

It soon became apparent that Sherlock was more of a hindrance than a help. Greg looked at Mycroft when Sherlock had turned the other way. Nodding, Mycroft addressed his brother.

"Don't you have to get back to that experiment that you were working on?"

"I thought you wanted my help?"

"Mycroft and I should be able to handle it from here," Greg assured him. "If we need extra hands, we'll give you a yell."

Sherlock escaped the room before they could change their mind.

Hearing the front door slam against the wall, Sherlock knew John had returned early from his date. His steps on the stairs were unsteady and heavy. As he shoved the door open and staggered through it with the smell of alcohol filling the room.

Looking John over, Sherlock stated, "You're home early and you're drunk," before returning to his experiment.

Seeing Sherlock's disapproving look, John dropped down into his chair to prevent himself from falling. John said angrily "Oh you decide to come home for a night? How considerate of you!"

"I told you this morning that we'd be staying here while they upgraded Mycroft's security. I assume your date went wrong?" The look on John's face told him that the comment was 'a bit not good'.

"What could possibly be wrong? After all, I went out on a date and returned in less than three hours covered with spaghetti sauce and no girl. Obviously, with that brain of yours, you can figure it out for yourself." John insulted him.

"I'm sorry the date didn't work out but I sure you'll find someone." The detective wanted to avoid upsetting John more than he already was.

"And you would be an expert on dating and love with your incestuous relationship. You couldn't manage to find a normal lover." John's anger intensified with cruelty.

Sherlock spoke softly with the hurt audible in his voice, "What did I do to make you so angry with me?"

Ignoring the question and in no mood for his roommate at this time, John snapped. "Don't see your brother around. What happened? Did he wise up and send you home?"

Walking into the living room, Sherlock began "John, I…."

"Don't John me," he continued. "You're in a depraved, immoral, and illegal love affair with your brother. You call that acceptable sexual behavior and love. It's a perversion of love. Your selfishness will cause the downfall of everyone who cares for you."

Greg and Mycroft had stopped placing the linens on the bed as they heard John's nasty reply. Greg began to head toward the voice, but Mycroft stopped him.

Although angry himself, Mycroft explained "If we interfere now, Sherlock won't be pleased. He has told me over and over he wishes to handle the situation with John himself. I'll honor his request but only so far."

The men listened as John continued to get louder but they were unable to see that Sherlock was beginning to shake and pale.

"John, please."

Jumping out of his chair, "You dare to compare sibling incest with true love."

Sherlock started to walk toward him to calm him, but John was too drunk and angry. He struck out at his roommate who was taken by surprised. The first punch hit Sherlock's eye while the second hit could be heard as the fist connected with his cheek knocking him down.

Hearing flesh hitting flesh, they rushed into the room just in time to see Sherlock fall making himself as small as possible. John bent over to punching him again until Greg yanked him away from the detective. Mycroft rushed to his brother. The voice of the livid British Government bit off each word.

"You'll regret the day that you touched him. You're under arrest for assault and battery," Greg grabbed his arms to place cuffs on him.

"No please don't," Sherlock begged as Mycroft gathered him into his arms. "He's drunk. Mycroft, Greg, please. He doesn't know what he's doing, promise me you won't do anything. He's not himself."

The men were shocked to hear Sherlock saying please and begging.

"But he assaulted you. Plus, those things he said were cruel and untrue." Greg countered.

"I'm begging you, let him go."

Greg dropped John's arms while shoving him, "Get out of my sight before I do more than arrest you."

John glared at the three men before storming down the stairs, but prior to reaching the door, he saw the look of fury on Mrs. Hudson face. She was standing on the landing preparing to serve tea to them all.

After John left the room, Mrs. Hudson walked in. Seeing the mess of Sherlock, she dropped the tray, "Oh Sherlock, what did he do to you?"

Mycroft looked up from the floor. "Mrs. Hudson, please leave. I need to calm my brother."

"Keep me informed as to how he is." she requested.

Mycroft nodded. After she left, Greg offered his arm to help the brothers up. However, although Mycroft moved, he could feel the tremors intensifying in Sherlock and see that he seemed to be looking into space.

"Lock?" Mycroft noticed tears beginning to stream from his younger brother's eyes. Sherlock's body began to shake violently as he began apologizing repeatedly to the two men for ruining their lives.

"What's happening?" Greg's concern was growing as he watched his friend.

"It's okay Lock, shhh now," Mycroft tried to reassure his brother then explained. "He's having a meltdown. A person with Asperger's will temporarily lose control because of emotional responses usually with environmental factors, Sherlock is just beginning to accept emotions, so John's outburst probably triggered this. Everyone is different, but he will need a quiet place to recover and people who make him feel safe."

"He can't stay here where John might show up again," Greg said. He wanted to hug his detective but was afraid it would cause more problems for him.

"He'll feel safer at my house. However, Gregory, once he comes out of this he'll feel ashamed, embarrassed, and very tired. With him, I'm not how sure how long it will last. The only thing we can do is give him time and love."

Mycroft called for his car telling Greg. "We need to limit the amount of input he is receiving. Could you get me a blanket to wrap him in?" While waiting for the blanket, he called Athnea and told her to notify the men who would begin working on the house early in the morning not to come until further notice.

Once the car arrived Mycroft carried his wrapped baby brother to the car reassuring him all the way. Although Sherlock was tall, he was very thin, 'not eating again' Mycroft thought. Greg opened the door and held Sherlock until Mycroft climbed in then handed Sherlock to him before climbing in after him.

As they arrived at the house, Mycroft advised Greg, "Don't turn on lights except what is needed. When we get to the bedroom just turn on the ensuite light, so I can see what I'm doing. Also, try to make as little noise as possible. His senses are all hypersensitivity at this time."

As Sherlock was laid down, he stopped his chant of being sorry but had an empty stare.

"Lock, are you okay?" Mycroft asked but received no answer. The light from the bathroom showed a blackening eye and a deep purple bruise on his cheek while other bruises were beginning to blossom. Touching the bruising softly, he whispered. "I'll be right back if you need me." With a light kiss on his brother's forehead, he left the room to find Greg.

"How is he?" the DI asked after Mycroft found him in the den.

"Staring into space. I'm worried about his face but don't want a strange doctor looking him over,"

"How about Molly? He knows and likes her." Greg suggested.

"I'm not sure. He doesn't like people to touch him when he's not well." And thinking silently 'except Watson who I will not allow near him'. "Can you call her and inform her I'll send a driver if she agrees. I want to get back to my brother."

Greg called Molly explaining Sherlock needed to be examined but not why, and after she agreed, sent Mycroft's driver for her.


	2. Chapter 2

Arriving at the house, Molly was met by Greg who explained the situation and Sherlock's condition.

When they entered the room, Mycroft was rocking his little brother while softly talking to him. His right eye looked empty while the other was swollen shut. Other than crying out occasionally to not hurt his brother or others who love him, Sherlock didn't respond to anyone who spoke to him and seemed to still be absent from his surroundings.

Molly gasped when she saw Sherlock's face. "John did that? He better not ever try to talk to me, or I'll give him a piece of my mind."

"And her hand, I'm sure," Greg muttered to Mycroft making him smile.

Moving slowly as not to startle her friend, she placed her hand on him. "It's me, Sherlock. I'm going to check over the damage to your face and eye."

Mycroft gently placed Sherlock flat on the bed and moved to the chair. As she touched his eye and cheek to assess for fracture or other problems, he never moved. "As far as I can tell without x-rays, there's no breakage. Keep a watch on it, put ice on for twenty minutes then off for the same amount of time to help the swelling go down. How is the rest of him?' she asked.

"His breathing seems all right although John had punched in there and it's beginning to bruise." Mycroft pointed to the area.

Molly did a quick check and listened to his heart and lungs. "His heart is fast as is his breathing, but they both seem fine. If any problems arise, call me and I'll come back."

"Thank you, Molly," Mycroft said looking sadly at his brother who hadn't reacted to any of the activity around him. "Come back to us, Lock. We're here for you."

"I have a brain in the morgue for you, but you know they don't last long," Molly told her friend, kissing him before leaving.

After Molly left, Greg went downstairs to prepare some food for Mycroft and himself. When it was ready, he took it up to the bedroom. Silently he set it up in front of the chair Mycroft was sitting in and pulled another over for himself.

"You need to eat, Mycroft. If you don't, you won't be able to take care of him. Something tells me he'll need you for a while."

The anger he had been holding in finally erupted. "If I could get my hands on Doctor Watson, he'd regret it for the rest of his miserable life. But Sherlock begged me to leave him be, and I can't refuse him. However, I'll see that he stays out of my brother's life."

Greg sighed. "Let's be realistic. Sherlock will always want John in his life. We won't be able to keep him out of it after your brother is well enough to go back to the flat. Look what happened when John was told about you two. Sherlock suffered because of John's abandonment even though he chose you when given the ultimatum. All we can do is make sure John understands how much damage he did and hope it gets through to him."

Mycroft felt a desire to accept his brother's choices but not to see him so hurt. "I know I'm angry but seeing him like this hurts so much. If Sherlock insists on including Doctor Watson in his life before I allow it, Watson is going to have to prove to me that he won't do this again. Next time something like this happens, he'll disappear no matter what my brother wants."

"I agree. Now, do you need anything else before I go home? I must work in the morning. I'll check in tomorrow but call if you need anything. Just relax, I'll see myself out." Greg assured him.

"My driver will take you home. Thank you for your help, Gregory. We'll be fine,"

"Get some sleep Mycroft," Greg called as he headed toward the car waiting for him.

Mycroft laid down again, pulling his brother to him. He could feel Sherlock's even breathing and knew he was now sleeping. "I love you Lock," he said as he moved the dark curls off his forehead and kissed him. "Sleep well."

The next morning Mycroft woke to one open eye of his brother. "Hi, love."

When he didn't get a response, he leaned over to kiss Sherlock, but the detective moved away. "We can't" was all he said.

"Why not? Do you hurt?"'

Although grimacing, Sherlock shook his head no. "We can't anymore. Too many people will be hurt by what I made you do. You will lose everything, Greg will lose his job, Mrs. H and Molly will be accused of being accessories. I'm sorry, so sorry. We need to stop this. I'll leave." With this, he tried to get out of bed.

Sherlock swung his legs off the bed to stand but the weakness from the previous night caused him to begin falling. Mycroft reached over from his side of the bed and caught him.

At the same time, Greg knocked on the bedroom door, "Mycroft, I'm here."

"Come give me a hand." Greg opened the door to find Sherlock being held up by his brother.

Laughing Greg head toward the bed, "If only I had a camera."

"Gregory!" complained Mycroft who was struggling to keep Sherlock from falling.

Reaching the bed, the DI lifted Sherlock's legs and help replace him on the bed.

"I can't stay here, John's right. I am endangering all of you." Sherlock started to cry while curling up on the bed.

Looking up at Greg, "I better not see Dr. Watson," Mycroft warned wrapping his brother in his arms. "It's okay love. You did nothing wrong."

Through the sobs, "I put all of you in danger just to make myself happy. I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Shhh, you did nothing. Sleep love." Mycroft rocked him and within a few minutes Sherlock's sobs stopped and he fell asleep.

"I've never seen him cry before or say he's sorry like that. How long will this last?" Greg asked, upset to see his friend in this condition.

"I'm not sure. The ones before lasted from a day to weeks depending on what brought it on. This time guilt seems to be fueling it. All we can do is support him, see he eats and sleeps and continue to enforce he has nothing to be feel guilty about." Mycroft ran his hands through his brother's hair, clearly showing his concern. "Also keep Dr. Watson away from him."

"I agree but once he's better, he'll want John as his friend. We won't be able to stop that. Now is there anything I can do you before I head off to work?"

Rubbing Sherlock's back and whispering he was safe, "A cup of tea before you go would be appreciated. I don't want to leave him right now until he settles more. Hopefully, later I can get him to eat a little."

Fifteen minutes later Greg reentered the room with tea, eggs, and toast. "Here you go." Mycroft raised his eyebrow at the food. "Don't give me that look. You need to care for yourself if you want to be able to care for him. I'll stop by after work. Call if you need anything," Greg told him. As he left he called out, "And eat."

After finishing his breakfast, he noticed Sherlock had settled so he took a quick shower. Calling Athena to bring him files as he intended to work from home, so he could watch over his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

John returned to the flat in the following morning after spending the night in a fleabag hotel feeling hungover and annoyed over the events of last night. He knew he had gone too far and really didn't mean what he had said. It was just he was so upset over the date and knowing his roommate was so happy made him feel frustrated and angry. Taking it out on Sherlock had been wrong and now he was unsure if he would be forgiven.

Walking up the stairs, he hoped that Sherlock would be there, so they could talk about the night before, and he could apologize. Although he wanted a shower and something for his headache, the conversation would come first.

"Sherlock, you around?"

When he received no answer, he glanced into Sherlock's room. The area was moved around with a half-covered mattress and except for the bed, the furniture was pushed against one wall.

"Must have gone to Mycroft's. With how Mycroft reacted to the situation last night, it isn't going to go well for me." He muttered heading to the loo.

After a shower, medication, and food, he went to bed to clear his head and wait until Sherlock returned to clear up the misunderstanding.

-

When Sherlock didn't come home for the next two days, John decided to text him.

'Sherlock'

He waited a half an hour and tried again but still no answer.

'Sherlock, I just want to make sure you're okay.'

Again, he waited. Again, there was no response.

'I know you're angry with me but listen you, git. I just want to know that you're safe'

Finally, his phone binged, 'He's in no condition to answer your text. When he can respond, he will do so if he desires. Do not contact him again. MH'

John dropped his phone. What condition was Mycroft talking about? Had he driven Sherlock to relapse with drugs? Obviously, Mycroft wouldn't speak to him, but he had to find out what had happened. Maybe Greg would tell him.

_

The last two days had first brought feelings of shame then depression. Sherlock had spent the time either sleeping, crying, saying he was sorry repeatedly, or staring into space curled up in a ball.

"Sherlock, please eat a little. It's been two days." Mycroft pleaded.

"Not hungry, just tired. Please let me leave, you're can't be found in this room with me. They'll prosecute you because I made you love me."

"Love, we've talked about this. We did nothing that I didn't want to do. I knew the risk and love you more than anything else. Our friends are supporting us of their own free will. Now, will you please at least drink some tea?"

Seeing the concern in Mycroft's eyes, he took a sip, "Uhm, its pure sugar. Are you trying to sweeten me up?" A small grin on his face.

"Love, you're sweet enough," Mycroft smile, happy to see the grin. He moved forward attempting to wrap Sherlock in his arms but saw him move away.

"Please, we can't risk it. I don't want to be the cause of your or the others downfall." Sherlock pulled back into himself, his grin disappearing.

Although Mycroft was upset but knew his brother wouldn't accept the truth yet, he continued to smile while moving back giving Sherlock room. "I'm trying to get something into you, so you will increase your strength. I don't want you to fall while going to the bathroom."

"Huh, well that tea is horrible, but if I fall I promise to not mess up your rug if I can't make it in time." The grin reappeared for a moment but then he wrapped himself up again and turned toward the wall.

"Sherlock, did you want more tea now and to eat a little later? I'm worried about you."

"I'm not hungry and that sip put enough sugar into me to last so please don't worry. I'm not worth it." Sherlock made himself as small as possible.

"You are to me." This was not the time to try to talk him out of how he was feeling. Mycroft sighed before remembering Mrs. Hudson had promised to come by today with the chocolate biscuits Sherlock loved. He would wait until she brought them before attempting to persuade Sherlock to eat something.

_

Greg sighed, running his hands through his hair. He was surrounded by the paperwork from a case that he really could use Sherlock's help with. He looked up to see Sally lean on his door.

"Why isn't the Freak here to show us up and solve that? I mean it's right up his alley, just guts and gore."

"I've told you before not to call him that unless you want a write up in your file. Now, what do you want?" Greg snapped.

Surprised at his threat, she handed him some papers to sign. As she turned to leave, he warned. "Stop your constant name calling. You're supposed to be a professional, not a schoolyard bully."

A few minutes late his phone rang, "Lestrade," he barked.

"Greg, it's John."

The DI dropped the paper he had been reading and respond with anger, "What the hell do you want?"

"Look, I know you're upset with me, but I'm worried. Mycroft answered my text to Sherlock saying he was in no condition to talk. What did he do? Take drugs again?"

"Oh, I'm sure that would make you happy, so you can be condescending while watching over him and offering your put-on help along with your patronizing comments."

"Come on, that's not fair. We both know what a drama queen he is. Sometimes I need to be a little strict with him."

"He not a child who needs your idea of caring but a man who needs a friend. Just so you know your drama queen had an Asperger meltdown from your drunken abuse."

"No one ever told me, he had Asperger. If I knew I…."

"NO! I don't want to hear it. Obviously, he didn't feel secure enough to tell you. You might have caused Sherlock to have a complete breakdown! STAY AWAY FROM HIM." Greg yelled into the phone before slamming it down.

"Boss, what's up? Heard you yelling about the Freak. What did he do now?" Sally asked from the doorway.

"SALLY, if you want to continue to work for me, shut up and get out, NOW," Greg warned.

Alone in his office, he calmed down and before returning to work whispered, "Come on Sherlock, get better. I need you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock, my dear," Mrs. Hudson called out cheerfully as she entered his room. Mycroft joined her knowing she was the one person his brother wouldn't ignore. Standing in the corner he watched her with a smile.

She pulled the blanket back from over his head to run her fingers through his hair. "Why are you hiding under there? Come out and eat. Now you know better than skipping meals."

"Not hungry." The smell of chocolate drifted through the air. "Are those chocolate biscuits?" Sherlock asked in a voice rough from disuse.

"They are, but only for those who eat some real food first." She informed him before turning and winking at Mycroft. "Now I understand that your brother brought you some eggs and toast with your favorite jam. If you eat up everything, I'll give you one biscuit that I baked."

"Two?" Sherlock bargained.

Pretending to think and looking toward Mycroft who nodded, she sighs. "Only if you eat all the eggs and toast and drink a cup of tea."

With her encouragement and a smile from his brother, Sherlock slowly chewed on the toast, took a small fork full of the eggs, and sipped the tea until all were consumed. "I'm done." He sounded like a small unsure child who hoped he had made her happy.

Mrs. Hudson handed him three instead of two biscuits. "You did a great job, thank you."

During this time Mycroft moved closer to him until he was sitting against the headboard. Mrs. Hudson handed him a biscuit, "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."

"Well, boys I need to get back home. Now Sherlock, no more biscuits unless you eat a modest amount of food before receiving them." She picked up her purse and headed toward the bedroom door. "I'll see you in a few days, dear."

After she left, Sherlock looked at his brother. "She only gave you one."

"I didn't eat first. May I lay beside you?" hope sounding in his request.

Sherlock appeared to be thinking it over when Mycroft promised. "Just lay, nothing else."

A small nod from Sherlock loosened the knot in Mycroft's chest a little. He rested just taking in the warmth of his brother and hoping he was on the mend.  
_

Upset about Greg's attitude, John decided to apologize to Mrs. Hudson and see if she knew how Sherlock was. Hearing her returning from wherever she had been, he knocked on her door. After she opened the door, she glared at him. "What do YOU want, Dr. Watson?"

"Look, Mrs. H," he started while looking down at his feet. "I'm sorry for all the yelling the other night, but you know how Sherlock can wind people up."

"Dr. Watson, I was on the landing and heard what happened. How dare you blame Sherlock, when you're the one who was out of line. You caused Sherlock to collapse. Now if you don't mind, I'm your landlady, not your therapist. Perhaps you need to consider your actions. However, as of now, do not bother me again unless it's with your portion of the rent." And with that, she slammed the door in his face.

John stared at the door, "Why is everyone blaming me, when they all know how rude Sherlock is and his mouth is always ruining things. This is not my fault." He told himself as he slowly walked away. _

Mycroft had seen a small change in Sherlock. Although still not allowing any romantic affection, his brother was discussing other things with him. After the last week, Mycroft knew he would have to go back to work for a few hours for meetings and problems that Athena wasn't able to handle. However, he was concerned about the weakness his brother was showing.

"Sherlock, I'll need to go into the office for a few hours tomorrow." Mycroft wasn't sure how his brother would feel about it and hoped he wouldn't feel abandoned.

"Go, I don't want you in more trouble because of me. Really, I'm okay Mikey. According to everyone, I'm just not healthy enough to go back to 221B yet."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you. I just want to assure that you're up to being left alone or would you like me to see if Mrs. Hudson could stay with you?"

"I'm not a child, Mycroft," Sherlock sounded angry for the first time since the incident.

"I'm not saying you are, just want you to feel comfortable. I know you can't do the steps yet without help. It will be no more than three hours or so." Mycroft assured him but had to admit he was happy to see some animation in his brother's reaction.

"You have a job to do, and I'm sure I can manage by myself. As soon as I can do stairs, I'll go back home."

"Sherlock, this is your home also. Stay as long as you like. I like having you around. How about I have Cook fix us some dinner?"

"Are there any of those biscuits left?" Mycroft had gotten Sherlock to eat small amounts with the promise of some of the bakery afterward. "There are but remember Mrs. Hudson's order, eat some first, then desserts. I'm not brave enough to go against that woman. She scares me."

"You can't be afraid of her, she's just an old lady," Sherlock protested.

"With a big frying pan. Now, how about a meal because I don't think either of us wants to feel that pan on our butts." Mycroft teased.

"Can I have some tomato noodles?" Sherlock asked admitting he was hungry for a change.

"Anything you want. Anything at all," Mycroft left the room smiling after getting his brother in the chair and set him up to eat. Maybe the depression was beginning to lift.  
_

It's been a week and John was really worried now. He had heard nothing from Sherlock and no one had told him anything. Hoping Molly knew his condition, he entered the morgue where he found her in the middle of an autopsy.

"Hi," John called up as he walked up to her table.

Instead of answering him, she turned away and continued with her examination.

"Molly?"

"Did you want something, Dr. Watson?" Whipping around, John saw that sweet, timid Molly was furious.

"I see you heard. Look I know what I did was wrong, but I was drunk and you know how he likes to push people with his comments. All I want to know is if you know how he is."

"How dare you blame him? He can now see out of both eyes and move his jaw although with pain. However, you lied to him when you told him you accepted his relationship then told him what you truly feel. Blaming your comments on being drunk isn't an acceptable reason. His heart is broken and believes he's putting us all in danger by knowing about his and Mycroft's love. Now if you don't mind, get out. I'm busy."

"Look, Molly," was as far as he got before she slapped him.

"I want you to leave. I treated him and saw the damage you did and how guilty and broken he feels because of your accusations. Now get out and don't come back."

John left rubbing his face still not sure what exactly was going on with Sherlock that was causing everyone hated him. After all, Sherlock had pushed him with his smart mouth, he had just reacted.


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft had left for work for an hour ago where each day he spent just a little more time at the office before always arrived back in time to share supper with his brother. Sherlock had managed to get himself to the room's recliner with hanging on to the bed then dresser and was enjoying the sun's warmth while thinking about what was happening. As his eyes closing, he found himself arguing within his mind. Yes, John was drunk, but once again he had pushed someone until the outcome was violence, only this time it was him that received it instead of an innocent.

'Everyone is telling me that they're my friend and supporting the relationship that we're in or rather were in. I love my brother, but John says it's a depraved, immoral, and illegal love affair with unacceptable sexual behavior that's a perversion of true love. Although other tell me it's not, John's my best friend, he wouldn't lie to me, would he?"

He lay his head back on the chair. 'But why would the others lie, saying they're my friend if they believe what John said. After all, he's saved my life and I've saved his." Sherlock grabbed his hair and yanked it hard. Even the pain didn't stop the merry-go-round in his brain.

'Yet Mycroft says he loves me, Mrs. H, Molly, and Greg (yes, I do know your name, Greg) say they're supporting Mycroft and my relationship because they want to see us happy. No one has wanted to see me happy before. How can I let them get into trouble if someone else finds out about our relationship? And Mycroft could lose his position, money, and possibly even his life.'

The frustration was causing Sherlock's tears to begin to fall as he continued to struggle and figure out who to believe. 'I've cried more in the last couple of weeks then the rest of my life, but I can't let anyone to be hurt because of me. I just can't let them suffer because I'm so selfish. John is right, my selfishness will cause the downfall of everyone who cares for me. I need to protect them as soon as I can leave here.'

His decision made his confusion and frustration settle allowing him to fall asleep.

Sebastian had the prints from the feed from their cameras Jim had ordered pointed at the upstairs window and outside the door of 221B. He stopped in front of Jim's office door trying to decide what to do. No doubt these pictures would upset his boss and depending on his mood, Jim would either be grateful that Sebastian brought the photos to his attention or punish him, again, for something he had no control over. He could never tell what would set Jim off.

"Morning Sebbie, what do you have for me?" Moriarty asked seeing the folder in Sebastian's hand.

Handing Jim the photos, he said, "This is from the cameras we hacked into across the street from Sherlock's home."

After looking the pictures over, Jim held his hand out for the DVD. He loaded it on his computer and watched as John attacked Sherlock, Mycroft and the DI pulling the Doctor off, followed by Mycroft carrying his brother out of the door. "Do we know what happened to cause this beating?"

"The information I was able to gather was Watson came home drunk, started screaming at Sherlock's then started beating him before Mycroft and that DI intervened. With no sounds, we don't know what he was yelling about." Moran explained.

"Is that a criticism of my order not to bug the flat anymore?" The sudden anger in Jim's voice caused Sebastian to immediately reassure him.

"No sir, of course not. Just a comment."

"Very poorly timed comment. Now, what happened to Watson?"

"He left and didn't return until the next day. He's still at the apartment." Seb informed the furious Moriarty.

Jim grabbed his phone and dialed.

"Hello?" the posh voice of Mycroft Holmes questioned. He had answered the phone not looking at the caller ID with the hand not wrapped around his brother.

"Why the hell is Watson walking around yet? You're the fucking British Government. He should have been gone by now." Jim yelled into the phone.

"Moriarty, how did you get this number?" Mycroft demanded. Sherlock, who he had been helped to dress and come down the stairs heard his brother's comment and raised his head to look at his brother.

"Really you of all people know better than that. You didn't answer my question." Jim demanded, "Why didn't you do something about Watson? And how badly was Sherlock hurt?"

"My brother is none of your business. As for Watson, I'm following Sherlock's request. Now if you don't mind, stay out of it." Hanging up the consulting criminal.

Jim glanced at the disconnected phone. "Sebbie, no one and I do mean _no one,_ touches Sherlock besides me. For some reason that ridiculous detective wants Watson left alone. I think Dr. Watson needs to be taught to keep his hands off my Sherlock. So, see to it he gets the point." Nodding, Seb stated toward the door. "And Sebbie? I know you and Watson have a history but just a small warning. We don't want to upset Sherlock too much."

Back in the bedroom with his brother, Sherlock was worried. "What did he want?"

"Somehow he found out about what happened and was concerned about you. Nothing for you to be worried about." Mycroft told him.

"I heard him ask about John. You don't think he'll hurt him, do you? I don't want John hurt. He just said what I should have known. I could have destroyed him if my actions came out. Nothing he did was wrong." Sherlock once again defended his roommate's actions.

"ENOUGH, he was wrong, and you must accept that," Mycroft was angry that he wasn't getting through to his brother that being beaten wasn't his fault. "You are not responsible for my decisions or our friends. We each are adult and can choose how we want to handle our lives."

Sherlock pulled away from his brother burying his head in the pillow.

"I'm sorry I yelled. Can you look at me please?" Mycroft knew his yelling had caused his brother to become upset again. He waited without Sherlock looking at him until fifteen minutes later he could hear his brother's sleeping breaths.

"Nice going," Mycroft said softly to himself, "He's back to avoiding you. How stupid can you be?"

The doorbell rang. As his staff was gone for the night, he went to answer it.

"How's he doing?" Greg asked as Mycroft opened the door.

"Not well, but at less he was eating a little and had stopped crying."

"Was, had?"

"I yelled at him. He's now ignoring me."

"Mycroft, why did you yell at him? That's not like you."

"Moriarty found out about what happened and called demanding to know why Watson was not gone at least. Sherlock overheard him and was concerned Moriarty would hurt John then stated that the doctor was right. I just lost it."

"You're under pressure so don't be too hard on yourself. Is it okay if I try talking to Sherlock? See if he'll speak to me." Greg asked.

"He's sleeping. Let's leave him for a while. Drink?" Mycroft walked into the den with Greg following him. Pouring them both a drink, they sat just talking about work and things unrelated to the situation.

After about an hour, Greg asked, "Do you think he'll be awake?"

"He only sleeps an hour or so at a time so he's probably up. Tell him I'm sorry that I yelled if he talks to you."

"I will. Maybe we better warn John to watch out. I'm not sure Sherlock would survive if something happened to him." Greg tried to comfort Mycroft while ensuring Sherlock wasn't put under more pressure.

"Can you call Dr. Watson? I don't think I can even be civil enough to warn him." Mycroft admitted.

Nodding Greg headed toward the bedroom.

"Sherlock, you awake?"

"I don't need anything please go away." Sherlock's voice was strained from crying.

"Actually, I need some help. I have some cold cases in the car and I was wondering if you'd look them over. The boss is getting on all the departments heads about not clearing up the backlogs." Greg knew Sherlock had to be bored and thought this might help improve it.

"You don't want to be associated with me when this comes out. I won't put you in that situation anymore. That way, you can deny knowing what I forced you all to do." The whispering from Sherlock was hard to hear but Greg heard enough to make out what he was saying.

"I'm not denying anything. You and Mycroft are my friends, and I'll stick by you no matter what. Now, do you want to help me out or not?" Greg was trying not to lose his temper.

"No, thank you. I'm tired, goodbye detective." Sherlock turned his back on Greg now ignoring him.

Walking down the stairs, he remembered to call John. The phone rang finally going to voicemail. Then tried the clinic where he learned the doctor was scheduled for the day but hadn't shown up yet.

"Mycroft, I think we have a problem. I can't reach John, and he didn't show up at his job. Do you still have the tracker on his phone?"

Pulling up his phone, they found John's phone tracker located in the alley by Baker Street and not moving.

"I need to check this out," Greg said as he raced out the door. "I'll call Donovan to meet me there. I'd call you with what I find."


	6. Chapter 6

John having, who had drunk himself to sleep last night, was late and was rushing to work when he was yanked into the alley, had a hand placed over his mouth and was roughly slammed against the wall.

He recognized Moran's voice and knew he was Moriarty right hand man meaning that Jim was behind the attack. Two men were forcefully holding him against the building's wall. However, John couldn't think of anything he had been involved with lately that would prompt this attack. "What the hell do you want Morgan?"

"My Boss is upset with you," Moran informed him. "Said to tell you no one but he hurts his Sherlock and gets away with it. However, you're lucky tonight. Boss said to teach you a small lesson and not kill you" he said, grinning, "This time at least." His words were followed by a punch in the stomach

As John tried to bend over to release some of the pain, another punch landed on his face. The blows kept coming until it was only the men holding him up. A nod from Moran and the men restraining him threw him into a rancid water puddle and onto the filthy alley. "Don't touch Sherlock again. Next time, I'm sure that Jim will be more than happy to allow me to finish you off. And make no mistake, I'll take my time and enjoy killing you painfully."

As John laid on the ground, he could hear traffic, voices, and birds singing not far from where he was. However, being short of breath, he couldn't yell out for help. His eyes were beginning to swell causing his vision to decrease and pain with any movement left him without the ability to move out the alley for help. It took quite a while before he could manage to sit up against the wall then waited for the return of enough strength so he could rise to his feet.

The sound of a blaring siren suddenly stopping on the street in front of the alley caused him to open his eyes as well as he could. Running feet became louder before ending in front of him.

"Dr. Watson, it's Sally Donovan. Is there any place I need to be careful of?" She leaned down to his eye level putting her hand on his shoulder to help steady him when he shook his head. "They really did a job on you. The DI will be here in a few minutes along with the ambulance."

"Nothing broken. He was careful about that." John moaned as he attempted to move.

Lestrade came running down the alley with the ambulance attendant behind him. Once he saw John sitting up he slowed down. "Sally, how is he?"

"States he has nothing broken but sitting up is giving him some problems."

"Dr. Watson, do you know anything about your attackers or why they did this?" Greg finally addressed him.

"Moriarty's men, of course. Guess he unhappy about Sherlock and my disagreement." The doctor moaned.

"What does the Fr…." Remembering the DI warning, she changed her wording, "What does Holmes have to do with this?"

"I'll take over here while and contain the crime screen while you go with Watson to the hospital and get his statement," Greg ordered as the attendances loaded John on the gurney.

"I don't mind if crawling around in the mud and blood here if you want to go with your friend," Sally offered.

"Just go with Watson, I've got it here." Greg turned away from both of them more than ready to begin looking over the site."

Shrugging her shoulders at his boss's orders, she followed the gurney to the ambulance. Climbing in after John, she asked. "You two on the outs or something?"

"Look, just take my statement once they patch me up and leave it lay," John mumbled through his swelling face.

Sally looked at the man lying before her, sure that something had happened between him and her boss. Silently she sat wondering what it could be.

Meanwhile back at the site, Greg waited for Forensics to show up. As Anderson came up the alley, Greg groaned. Anderson was just what he needed today.

"I hear it was Sherlock's little sidekick. Wasn't the Freak around to watch him?"

"Just do your damn job and shut up," Greg growled out.

"Touchy, touchy," Anderson whispered as he knelt.

"Anderson!" He shouted. Leaning against the wall, cigarette in his hand, he watched Anderson very slowly gather evidence. He wished that Sherlock could be here to speed this along with one look telling him NSY was idiots but spouting off the needed evidence.

After Forensics finished up, Greg walked away from the men gathering the rest of the evidence to dial Mycroft.

"Gregory?"

"He's beaten up but says nothing was broken. Some stitches I'm sure, black and blue face, and trouble moving. The ambulance just took him in. I'm going to finish up here then head to the office. I'll call you after Sally calls in."

"Thank you, Gregory."

"How's Sherlock?"

"He answers direct questions but not really talking to me."

"Hang in there Mycroft. He'll forgive you. No matter what he says, he loves you."

"I can hope. He's calling me, I need to go. Let me know what they have to say." Mycroft requested as he hung up.

Greg then called Sally, "Yes, Greg."

"How's Dr. Watson doing? Did you get his statement?"

Reading from the doctor's report, Sally said, "He has three cracked but not broken ribs and no internal bleeding. Does have a concussion, and deep bruises all over. Doctors are keeping him overnight for observation and discharging him in the morning if there are no problems. His face was swollen causing him to have difficulty speaking and seeing. With icing and all, he'll be able to talk more clearly in the morning according to the doctor."

"Go home then, I'll interview him in the morning. I'm heading in now to do some of the paperwork, then home to bed. Good Night Sally."

"Good night, Greg.

Mycroft entered Sherlock's room to find him dressed and in a chair. "You look good sitting up and dressed. Look, little brother, I'm sorry for yelling at you before. Can you forgive me?"

Avoiding looking into his brother's eyes, Sherlock said. "I need to get home and work. Experiments to do, cases to go to."

"You're not strong enough yet. Once the doctor clears you, then we can talk about it."

"What's to talk about? We can't do this anymore. The longer I'm here the more likely the possibility that someone will use me against you. I can't allow that to happen."

"I won't fight with you about this, but Sherlock I know the consequences and I will not lose you. Stay here until you are able to care for yourself." Mycroft pleaded.

"John will be there to see to it, I'm sure," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, that's not a good idea. He's the one that did this. Do you really want to trust him with this?" Mycroft pointed out.

"He was drunk and didn't mean to hit me. I'm strong enough to go home," Sherlock said. Standing from the chair, the detective took two steps before pitching forward. Only his brother's quick action prevented him from hitting his head.

Since right now was not the time to irritate Sherlock about his beliefs, Mycroft decided to try a different path to get his brother to eat. "If you eat, you'll be able to get back home faster to accept cases. You're too weak at this point, dear."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock insisted.

Although Mycroft knew his brother would want to go back to 221B, he also believed his brother would always be willing to put up with John's behavior. "Sherlock, what makes you think I'd let you go back into that situation? He beat you."

"He was drunk," the detective defended the doctor once more.

Taking his hands, Mycroft leaned in to kiss Sherlock's forehead. "And his comments have caused you to develop false beliefs. He has you doubting everyone's friendship and my love. Sherlock, I'm begging you. Think about this. I love you and only want the best for you."

"I know John's actions were wrong, but I threatened his livelihood with my desires. I'm sure that he'll be okay when he understands that I now know how much danger I put you all in."

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft left it drop. "How about something for supper? And don't tell me you're not hungry. Your 'transport' needs the calories."

"I supposed it the only way I can get you to let me go home. Something small and downstairs. This bedroom is getting too confining."

"Let me help you so you don't go heads over heels down the stairs," Mycroft offered.

With a small nod of his head, Sherlock offered his arm. Leaning heavily on his brother, he made the stairs.

After dinner, the two returned to Sherlock's room. Mycroft moved the covers back before helping him to bed. "Sleep well little brother. I'll see you in the morning before I leave for work."

"Not tired," Sherlock said as his eyes closed. Soon his breathing slowed and he went soundly to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning the DI stood in front of the doctor's hospital room trying to get his frustration at John under control. None of this would've happened if John hadn't gotten drunk once again then beating Sherlock and shooting off his drunken mouth about how Sherlock was hurting everyone. The doctor had done a number on his friend both physically and mentally.

Knocking he slowly opened the door, Greg saw John was sitting up with ice on his face."Good morning, Dr. Watson."

"Oh, we're back to Dr. Watson, are we?" John spit out heatedly. "I see you still hold me responsible for what happened with Sherlock. No one seems to think he instigated it with his inability to keep his mouth shut."

Holding back his temper, "You forget, Dr. Watson, I heard the conversation. For once he asked a simple question as a friend. It was you who came in slamming the door and letting your temper take it out on Sherlock. Now, I'm here for your statement. Could we just get on with it? Just tell me what happened with the pounding you received."

"Moran beat the shit out of me with a message from Moriarty to not touch his little pet. Once more, I ended up hurt because of Sherlock," John unload his bitterness at the DI.

"Are you sure it was Moran on Moriarty's orders?" Greg ignored the comment about the pet and Sherlock.

"I served with Moran for a few months in Afghanistan, so yes I know him. He made it very clear that this was retaliation for the clash between Sherlock and me. I hope my so-called flatmate is happy that I got back more than I gave him."

That was the final straw for Greg, "You 'ass'. Right now, all Sherlock talks about is you and your bullshit comments to him. He refusing to allow himself to be happy because of those comments. Claiming he doesn't want to hurt his friends and can't share his love with Mycroft. You made the man you claimed was your best friend so afraid that he has to be watched for suicide attempts."

"Sherlock isn't afraid of anything, but he knows how to be a drama queen," John shouted back grabbing his jaw in pain.

"You are lucky Sherlock made Mycroft and me promise not to address what you did with your temper." Greg glared at him, "Let's get the rest of this done before I forget that promise."

Crossing his arms over his chest, John explained exactly what happened with anger and pain in every word.

"That's all I need," Greg said as he stood and headed toward the door. "And one more thing Dr. Watson. If you ever lay another hand on Sherlock, I'll have you before a judge for this attack and the new one before you can blink. That is if Mycroft doesn't handle it first." With this warning, he left the room.

John laid back on his pillow. "No one understands that Sherlock caused all this. Him and his deductions."  
Feeling sorry for himself, John's doctor arrived a few minutes later to discharge him home.

Sherlock managed to get up, put on his dressing gown and slowly descend the stairs by hanging on to the railing. Speaking to himself. "Guess food does make a difference, but I'm not admitting to Mycroft that he was right. I would never hear the end of it."

He found Mycroft already in his seat at the table reading his paper. The whimper of Sherlock's discomfort as he hit the table's corner had his brother looking up.

"Why didn't you ring or even text, I would have helped you down?"

"Need to do it myself," with his eyes closed to get the pain under control as he mumbled. "I need to get back home and work. I'm tired of feeling bored."

"We could ask Gregory to bring you some cold cases to help eliminate the boredom."

"Not the same, no adrenalin," Sherlock downed his tea to quench his dry throat. Cook set a plate of food before him causing him to wrinkle his nose.

Grinning at him, Mycroft said, "Although you look cute that way, eating is the only way to get back to work, little brother." Pointedly, he avoided using the word home.

"And go home," Sherlock repeated. Slowly he ate about one-half his breakfast before admitting he was exhausted. "I'm too tired to eat anymore."

"Come on then, I'll help you back to your room," Mycroft said standing up.

"I'm fully capable of getting myself up the stairs," the detected protested.

"I need to get dressed anyway, so I'll walk up with you."

Huffing, Sherlock rose and slowly headed toward the stairs.

Although Mycroft wanted to help, he knew his brother wouldn't allow it. He followed him up the stairs hoping there would be no difficulties. When they reached the top of them, Sherlock offered him his arm in a silent request for support which Mycroft quickly provided.

After the detective was comfortably in bed, Mycroft's phone rang. Seeing the DI's name, he left. "One second Gregory, let me go to my room," he quietly said as he moved toward his room. Mycroft didn't want his brother to overhear a conversation that would concern Watson.

Sherlock had seen Greg's name and knew the call was regarding John. Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, he slowly headed toward his brother's room hand on to the wall for support. Listening at the door, he could tell the phone inside was on speaker as Mycroft was dressing.

"I can talk now Gregory. What did you find out about Watson's attack?"

"John said it was Moran with a warning from Moriarty. Although he's in pain and covered in deep bruises, he'll be all right. They're releasing him later today."

"It's better if my brother doesn't know about this. He's already insisting on returning home, so he doesn't endanger my life and job. What he doesn't seem to understand is his refusal to share our love is breaking my heart." Then Mycroft obviously turned off the speaker as it was impossible to hear anything further.

Sherlock felt tears running down his face. What was it with his transport betraying him again? He was hurting everyone he loved. This couldn't continue. There was only one answer, and it was hidden at 221B. It was time to get it and end all this misery and pain because of him that everyone was suffering.

John headed home with a bag of medicines and loaded with pain medication for the ride home. In the taxi, he angrily thought about the situation. Muttering to himself, he said, "Well, maybe there won't be a home if that interfering Mycroft has a say in the matter. The man just can't mind his own business, always pressing and poking into our lives and influencing Sherlock's view of our relationship. He's just an interfering git. Maybe our fight went too far this time, but Sherlock kept pushing when I was drunk. He can't hold what I said against me." John's anger rose again as he thought about that evening.

After paying the cab, he slowly climbed the stairs, falling into his chair when he finally made it to the apartment. Although he had heard Mrs. Hudson through her door when he had passed it, she hadn't come out to greet him as she normally would.

'Still mad.' He thought. Aloud, "Really, can't people get it that Sherlock was in the wrong for pushing me into hitting him!" Sitting there steaming at the situation, he fell asleep


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock waited until he heard Mycroft's car leaving the driveway before getting dressed taking frequent breaks. He descended the stairs slowly and quietly, so Cook didn't hear him. After leaving the house, the walk to the curb felt long and exhausting, but he knew he had to depart without anyone realizing he had taken off.

Raising his hand, a taxi appeared immediately. "At least I haven't lost the knack," he mumbled. "221B Baker Street," he uttered as he leaned against the seat.

It wasn't long before the driver woke him up announcing that he had arrived. Paying, he gradually headed at a snail's pace toward the door. All he could hope for was to mount the seventeen stairs, get the solution to his problems, and use it. Pushing the door open he looked at the mountain of stairs in front of him. Every step took more of his dwindling energy.

Mrs. Hudson, hearing him coming in came out. "Oh, Sherlock," her worried voice called out. "What are you doing here instead of your brother's? I've been so worried about you."

He began to climb the mountain one step at a time. "Don't fuss, Mrs. Hudson. I'm fine. You won't have to worry about me soon enough." He called back using some of his precious strength.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are not fine," she yelled up after him, but the closing of the upstairs door had her hurrying back into her apartment.

Taking the few steps to his chair, he collapsed into it. Closing his eyes, he tried to gather some energy to do what he felt he must.

"So, you're back," a drunken voice broke through his exhaustion.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, "John?" The quick movement made him dizzy forcing him to close his eyes again.

"Who else do you think would be here wait for you to return from your vacation?"

"Not a vacation, resting," he mumbled exhaustion weighing heavily on him.

"Oh really, from what I heard you've been quite the drama queen, and everyone thinks it's my fault."

"Sorry, you were accused. My fault, all my fault."

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at John, Sherlock gasped, "Moriarty did that?"

"Like how I look? Seems he was a little upset about our little tiff."

"Are you sure it was Moriarty?"

"Of course, it wasn't him personally. He doesn't get his hands dirty, remember. He sent Moran with a message. Happy that he revenged our little disagreement?" John's spit out sarcastically.

"I…I can't do this right now, too tired." Sherlock managed to pull himself out of his chair heading toward his room.

"Of course, you'll just run away from things you don't want to face. You're responsible for this whole situation," John yelled out after his retreating roommate.

Sherlock was able to stay on his feet long enough to reach his last dresser drawer with the secret bottom. He removed a capped syringe, tourniquet, and bottle of clear liquid before crumbling on his bed.

"You know Sherlock, Sally is right. You're a freak and a damn drama queen who doesn't care about his friends. I've had enough of your antics. I'm gone." John screamed through the door before stomping down the stairs and heading straight for the nearest bar.

Sherlock laid on the bed with the bottle of cocaine in his hand, crying again, "Damn transport, this isn't the time.". He knew he had just lost his best friend just as he knew he could no longer be with the love of his life. He had nothing to live for.

From his pocket, he pulled a folded note that he had written while waiting for Mycroft to leave and placed on his side table. This was the only way out for everyone. To live a safe life and be free of the danger he was putting them in.

Drawing up his normal dose, he pulled back the syringe further and doubled it. Tying the tourniquet, tears blurred his vision. Angrily he wiped the tears with the back of his hand, trying to see his vein. He didn't feel the needle slipping into his skin or the liquid making its way into his vein. At first, he felt a pleasurable flush, but he knew that it only would last so long before he would begin to feel the effects of the overdose. Closing his eyes, he let the drug rush over him.

Mrs. Hudson had hurried into her flat after Sherlock had reached the top of the stairs safely. Pulling out the card Mycroft had given her months ago, she called. The secretary informed her that Mr. Holmes was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed.

"Listen close to me, deary. I'm calling about his brother and you better get him immediately or I guarantee there will be hell to pay." Martha yelled into the phone.

A few minutes later, Mycroft answered. "What is it, Mrs. Hudson? Sherlock is safely at home I can assure you."

"You would be wrong then. He just arrived and told me I wouldn't have to worry very shortly. You need to get here now." The sound of yelling, stomping and the slamming of the outside door grabbed her attention. "John just stormed out. Please get here quickly, I'm afraid for Sherlock."

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm on my way and will have DI Lestrade meet us there. Please check on him and call me back if you find anything wrong."

She hung up and climbed the stairs to B. Her knock went unanswered as did her call of Sherlock's name. Looking around, she saw his bedroom door was closed. She called out once more before opening the door. With the curtain closed, she couldn't see him clearly in the darkened room but when he didn't answer his name once more, she flipped on the light.

"Oh, Sherlock! How could you believe this was necessary," she cried out when she saw the needle lying on the bed and the loosened tourniquet around his arm. Rushing to his side, she hit redial. When Mycroft answered, she was crying and begged him to hurry as she attempted to tell him what had happened.

"Mrs. Hudson, is he still breathing?" Mycroft shouted into the phone to get her attention.

"Yes, but he's not answering me. Hurry."

"I'll be there in five minutes and an ambulance has been dispatched. Detective Inspector Lestrade is almost there. Just stay with him," Mycroft called for his driver to rush. "Please" he added.

The sound of feet racing up the stairs had Mrs. Hudson calling out, "We're in the bedroom."

Greg raced to the bed, checking Sherlock over. His breathing and heart rate were dangerously rapid, and he seemed to be shaking. As a soft set of footsteps was heard followed by the sound of the ambulance attendants running up the steps, Sherlock began to seize.

Rushing to the bed, they quickly turned him to the side in the recovery position to help keep his airway clear.

"Do we know how long he has been seizing?" an attendant asked.

"Just started, as you came up the stairs," Greg called out feeling a hand on his shoulder.

"Gregory?" A soft voice asked

"He's alive," Greg assured Mycroft handing him the note that was addressed to him from the side table.

The attendants started timing the seizure. As it stopped, they placed an IV before placing oxygen to compensate for the fast breathing which was to shallow to deliver the needed amount of oxygen. "Do we know what he took and how much?"

Mycroft looked up from the note, "Cocaine. He says double his normal amount which is 7%."

The paramedic injected a sedative to counteract the hyper-excitability of his heart and respiration. They cracked open ice packs to place around him and started IV of saline to cool down Sherlock's feverish body. Once done, they placed him on the gurney and headed toward the ambulance. "Anyone coming?"

Mycroft followed them quickly while Mrs. Hudson and Greg headed toward his car.


	9. Chapter 9

Obviously, Athnea had been on the phone with the hospital for when they arrived at the A & E, they were shown to a private room to wait. Mycroft who held the letter reading it repeatedly seemed to be someplace in his mind. Mrs. Hudson sat wringing her hands while Greg paced.

"Mycroft?" the DI softly said as he sat next to him.

"Why, Gregory, why? I don't understand why he did it. I love him. You all care for him. He gave it all up to escape from this life. I just don't comprehend his actions."

"I'm not sure either, but we both know he loves you so much."

"He's always giving up what he wants for the sake of others, Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, you and even me," Mycroft sounded angry. "Why can't he put himself first? He is not the persona that he puts on for others; he is loving and giving." He voice was cracking at the end of his comment.

Mycroft gave Greg the note.

'My dearest Mycroft,

I want you to know I love you more than life itself. The thought of you and my friends, yes I know that I have friends now, being punished because of my love for you. Mikey, this is something I can't allow. If I'm gone, all of you will be safe. No one is at fault for this decision except me. Please forgive me and move on.

Your loving brother, Sherlock.

"How can he believe that I can survive without him now that I know he's my true love?" Mycroft took the letter back. "He has to live as he is my life." The unfamiliar emotions poured out of Mycroft. He never believed that he would feel love before Sherlock.

"He's stubborn and will make it," Mrs. Hudson hugged him.

It took three hours before a doctor entered the room. The man stood while Mrs. Hudson took Mycroft's hand.

"He's out of the woods for now and sleeping normally. The labs show no damage to his organs. I need to ask; did he plan to kill himself?"

"No," Mycroft immediately perked up hiding what he knew. Neither Greg or Mrs. Hudson contradicted him. "He hasn't used in years and his normal amount was too much. I'll see he gets the help he needs when he's released."

The doctor didn't believe a word of it, but knowing the man before him and his influence, he didn't want to end up facing that power. He smiled, "I see. You may see him for a few moments before visiting hours are over."

"I'll be staying the night," Mycroft informed him. It was a statement, not a question.

"As you wish Mr. Holmes," the doctor kept the smile on his face although inside he was irritated that the government man was dictating how he would treat his patient.

They were led to Sherlock's room, where he was still sleeping. He looked paler than any of them had ever seen him.

Mrs. Hudson bent over and kissed him on the forehead, "Oh Sherlock, don't you know we care so much for you?"

Lestrade stood over him, unsure what to say. "I need you, Sherlock. Us idiots at Scotland Yard can't solve the hard cases without you," his voice choked. "And I need you. You're my friend and I can't afford to lose one."

Mycroft looked at his brother, tears threatening. "Why? I love you so and I can't live without you."

They were interrupted as a comfortable recliner was brought in. As directed the delivery men placing it next to the hospital bed, then left silently. Sitting, Mycroft took his brother's hand and kissed it. "You will wake up and then we're going to talk about this until you see how much you are needed and loved."

Quietly the three waited for their friend and lover to wake. After a while, Mrs. Hudson left to go home to bed. Greg was just about to leave when a knock at the door had him opening it and quickly stepping though when he saw it was John. Furiously, he grabbed him and pulled him into an adjacent empty room.

"What are you doing here? Haven't you done enough already? Mrs. Hudson told me you screamed your garbage at Sherlock again. Are you happy with the results?"

"I was upset," John started in a drunken slur. Then he became furious himself. "I want to know how my best friend is, not get grilled by you or his nosey brother. No one seems to accept the fact that Sherlock provoked me, and I reacted. I can't help he took the truth this far."

"Best friend! You don't know what a friend is. You treat him like a child at times telling him what to do, when to do it, what he is saying wrong, and how to act. I know he doesn't get the social aspects with people at times, but you go overboard. As far as him and Mycroft, first you assure him things are fine, but then when you're drinking you insult him and outright tell him that he is, what was it, oh yes, 'depraved, immoral, and criminal'. Understand this well, Dr. Watson, stay away from Sherlock or face me. His true friends will be sticking by him and would prefer you stay out of his life."

"And what does he want?" John hisses back at him.

"That will be his decision. If he decides to continue living with at Baker Street, you had better change your ways or face the consequences," Greg swiftly left the room before his temper got out of hand.

-

Entering Sherlock's room, a questioning look from Mycroft had the DI mouthed the name, Watson. Mycroft went to stand but Greg said, "I took care of it, but I would suggest you deny him access to your brother's room."

The anger on Mycroft's face quickly turned to worry when a groan pulled his attention toward Sherlock. Kissing his brother's hand, he said softly, "I'm here 'Lock."

"Mikey?", Sherlock whispered disbelievingly then tears began to appear. "I couldn't even do this right."

"Stop that now. You would have broken all our hearts. Sherlock when you're better we are going to speak about this in detail. We love you and want you to be happy."

Greg pager went off announcing he was needed at headquarters. Silently he left the room with a fast nod to Mycroft.

The brothers sat quietly, neither knowing how to address the overdose. Finally, Sherlock broke the quiet, "I love you so much Mikey, I was trying to give you your life back, and our friends freedom from my horrible secret."

"Don't you understand, your death wouldn't be giving me my life back. Sherlock, you're my life. I love you so much, your death would leave me a hollow shell. Do you love me?" Mycroft asked.

"You know I do." Sherlock felt offended he would ask.

"Then how can you expect me to live without you? I love you more than any job or reputation." Mycroft sounded so wounded.

"I… I….I don't…" Sherlock found it hard to speak. "You're strong. I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"Not that strong little brother. What you don't understand is that it's not you, it's us. We're together in this. We are in love and need each other. And our friends all want you to live and be happy."

"But the problems if…" Sherlock didn't get further as Mycroft pressed his lips to his brothers. After a minute of shock, the detective kissed back before pulling his brother closer to him and almost into the bed.

"Whoa, you'll pull me on top of you. Move over some," Mycroft started to slide in beside him.

"The staff, your position" Sherlock began.

"I'm sure they saw it more than once and I don't care. Now I'd like another kiss." Mycroft bent over taking his brother's face into his hand and gently kissed him. As the kiss ended, he smiled, "Are we fine?"

"I'm still worried about what will happen, but I can't stop loving you, Mikey."

"You don't have to, love," running his hands through his brother's hair. "Get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Not tired," Sherlock insisted as his eyes began to droop. "Mikey, what about John?" he mumbled as he drifted off.

"Yes, what about John?" Mycroft said to the room.

_

John sat in the dark in 221B with a full bottle of liquid courage in his hand. Looking at the bottle, he started talking to it. 'What have I done? Beat Sherlock after promising never to do it again. I wouldn't be surprised if Mycroft talks Sherlock into kicking me out, and it would justify. Some mate I am, I can't even be happy for him. I'm a terrible friend and even a worse person. This time I doubt if he'll forgive me and really, I don't deserve his forgiveness."

The bottle in his hand felt like it was beginning to burn. Angrily, he threw it against the wall, before covering his eyes. He missed the front door opening and the footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft's stern voice pulled him out of his recriminations.

"Come to make me disappear?" John's sarcastic voice asked.

"If it wouldn't hurt my brother, you wouldn't be here now. However, for some reason, he still wants to live here with you." Mycroft glanced at the broken bottle nodding at it. "I suggest you get that under control and heed my warning well. If you so much as raise your voice to my brother in anger, I will personally see that you disappear so deeply no one will ever find you. You've beaten him three times, there will not be a fourth time."

John nodded not looking at Mycroft. "Is he all right?"

"As well as can be expected. Do not try to visit him in the hospital, call him or contact him in any way. I've have restricted you as a visitor. He will contact you when he elects. If he comes to the decision to return here, just remember my warning." Mycroft ordered before leaving.

John sat in the darkening room, thinking. He knew that he wouldn't be given another chance by Mycroft regardless of what Sherlock asked. Whatever he did, he needed to do it before his best friend would leave him for good.


	10. Chapter 10 (Re-posted, I posted 9 twice

After the life-threatening symptoms had abated, Sherlock was released early after making his nurses cry and the rest of the staff to throw their hands up in frustration. He would be going to Mycroft's until he was stronger and could return to 221B.

Trying to refuse the wheelchair, Sherlock agreed only after a raised eyebrow from his brother who had come to pick him up. "Get into the wheelchair, little brother."

Huffing, "I can walk," he stood, shaking off Mycroft's offered hands, but quickly almost fell from his bedside into the chair hissing in pain. As he righted himself while getting the pain under control, he saw the grin on Mycroft's face. "Not funny. I'm in the chair, aren't I?"

"Yes, you managed to get yourself into the chair, however, if you had accepted my help it would've caused much less pain," Mycroft chuckled causing his brother to glare at him. "Let's get you into the car and home to bed."

"Hoping for a little fun in bed?"

"I was in the room when t the doctor's informed you about sexual activity," Mycroft reminded him.

"But I'm not tired," the detective insisted.

"Then maybe we could eat before you rest," Mycroft suggested receiving another glare causing him to chuckle again. "Let's just get you home."

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft's house as they pulled in. "I want to sit downstairs for a while. I'm so tired of laying in beds."

After allowing Mycroft to help him into the house, Sherlock sipped the tea that Cook had brought in along with a plate of his favorite biscuits that Mrs. Hudson had dropped by specifically for him.

"That's not really what I had it mind when I suggested eating," Mycroft said as Sherlock grabbed a four biscuit.

"I'm eating aren't I," Sherlock place the fourth one into his mouth while Mycroft shook his head and grinned. Then after sitting in silence for a bit before Sherlock asked, "Mycie, about John."

Mycroft sighed. He knew this was coming but had hoped that Sherlock would be stronger before they had to discuss this. "Yes?"

"I want to go back to Baker Street," the detective began. Seeing his brother's disapproving face, he quickly added. "Not until I'm able to get my strength back. But I want John to be there too."

Trying to discourage him, Mycroft argued, "Sherlock, he savagely beat you for the third time. He was vicious with both his comments and fists. You aren't safe around him."

"I know, but he was drunk and upset. I triggered him with my smart mouth."

That was all Mycroft could take. "I never want to hear you say that again. Yes, you can be frustrating and disturbing, but never, and I do mean _never_ , does that give anyone the right to do what he did to you or caused you to do to yourself. You know how I feel about you living with him, but I will accept your decision. But let me tell you now, if he ever lays another hand on you, he will disappear, permanently."

"But…"

"No buts about it. You're not responsible for his actions, he is." Mycroft was red in the face with anger. "I never want to hear you blame yourself for his behavior. I hate when you are hurt by criminals, but your 'best friend' will never abuse you again, Sherlock."

The outburst lapsed into silence. A few minutes later, Sherlock spoke up. "Can you help me to bed, Mikey? I'm getting uncomfortable and tired."

Getting up, Mycroft helped his brother up the stairs. Once in the room, Sherlock sat and changed his clothing with a little help. Then allowed his brother to help him under the covers. After tucking him in, Mycroft turned to leave.

Sherlock grabbed his hand, "Stay with me?"

Mycroft rushed to remove his clothes down to his vest and pants. Sliding into bed, he carefully allowed Sherlock to make the first move. It wasn't long before the detective was wrapping himself around his brother. He briefly hissed when his rib touched Mycroft.

"I missed you little brother and was so afraid I lost you forever."

"I missed you too, Mikey," Sherlock whispered into his brother's chest before raising his head.

Hesitantly Mycroft gently kissed his brother's lips but as he pulled away, Sherlock reached around to turn it into a demanding one. When they came up for air, Mycroft smiled, "Now that's what I really missed."

"I'm sorry that I made you worry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. However, you were very immovable at times when you get an idea about something." Teasing, Mycroft gave him another breathtaking kiss until he heard Sherlock's moan of pain. Pulling back, his eyes asked what was wrong.

"Seems my ribs don't like me pressing against you," Sherlock explained but was interrupted by his stomach growling. "Shh, you." He ordered, but it growled again. "Damn transport."

"Seems like your transport wishes to eat. You stay there, and I'll ask Cook to make us dinner and bring it up."

"I'm not…."

"Don't even say it. Your stomach says differently, and I tend to believe it over you. So, relax until I come back." Mycroft headed to the door, "And no getting out of bed."

A grin from the detective contradicted his decoration of, "Not hungry."

Cook already had dinner prepared per Anthea instructions and was bringing it up the stairs when Mycroft met her. Thanking her, he continued carrying it up.

"What did you do? Fly it in," Sherlock complained when he saw the tray. "I'm not eating all of that."

"It's for both of us. Cook went out of her way to make all the foods you like so don't insult her by not eating it," Mycroft climbed back into bed and leaned against the pillows Sherlock had propped for him.

Looking at his brother, Mycroft smiled. "Open up, here comes the airplane," as he brought a spoonful of soup toward Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh, give me that," the detective snapped. "I am perfectly capable of feeding myself." And to prove it, he ate more than half of his soup then began on his Cottage Pie. Although he wanted to stop, the food was so good he kept eating until all of it was gone. "Happy! I'm stuffed now."

Not answering immediately, Mycroft lifted the cover off the strawberry Roly-Polys. "I guess I'll have to eat these all by myself since you're full."

Sherlock grabbed some of the jelled puddings wrapped in a soft baked dough.

After dinner was finished, the brothers remained in bed relaxing, wrapped in each other's arms. Softly kissing, they idly chatted about what they wanted for the future. With Sherlock recovering from the beating and the overdose, sex was off the table, but cuddling and kissing satisfied them at this time. Before long, they both fell asleep.

Mycroft was enjoying his dream. In it, Sherlock was caressing and kissing his body and slowly moving down to his penis where he peppered it with kisses. Although asleep and dreaming, he began to move his body in answer to the simulation. The shock of someone swallowing his penis woke him.

"Sherlock, you're supposed to be resting and reducing stress on your body. I specifically remember the doctor saying no intimacy for two more weeks at least."

Popping off this Mycroft's penis, Sherlock grinned up at him. "He said no anal sex when I asked him to qualify his statement. So, relax and enjoy", he smiled as he returned to doing what he was.

Before long Mycroft felt the familiar tightening of his stomach. "Sherlock, I'm going to come."

That grin once more let Mycroft know that his brother knew and didn't care. Soon he climaxed, dropping back on the pillow weak but fulfilled. Next thing he was aware of, Sherlock was cuddling close to him. Looking down at Sherlock's hardened member, "Give me few minutes and I'll take care of that."

"Can't. The ribs hurt too much right now and orgasm would cause me too much discomfort. But I wouldn't mind a kiss or two." It wasn't long before the two fell asleep in each other's arms.


	11. Chapter 11

A week later, the black car pulled up in front of 221B. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No, if you're sure John is home, I need to do this." Sherlock glanced up at the window.

"According to surveillance, he came home an hour ago."

"I want to talk to him alone but I won't be staying tonight. I'll call when I'm ready to leave, Mikey."

"I'm concerned about you. With his reactions in the past, you may not be safe alone with him." The worry palpably rolled off Mycroft.

"No need to worry. Your observation team determined he hasn't been drinking since my overdose. John and I need to come to an understanding if we are to continue our relationship as partners and flatmates."

"You're going to forgive him again, aren't you?" Mycroft's disapproval was evident.

"He's my friend, Mikey. The first I ever had to accept me as I am. Yes, he's always trying to change me, but for the good. I know what he's done, but he's saved my life so many times and forgave me for leaving him for two years. Please understand, I want to save this friendship if I can."

Sherlock's 'please' twisted at Mycroft's heart. For Sherlock to almost be begging him, it indicated that this meant so much him that Mycroft couldn't allow his feelings about Dr. Watson to prevent his brother from trying to maintain their association. "I'll support whatever you want, this time. But never again will I look the other way if he lays a hand on you."

With a quick kiss, Sherlock left the car walking slower than usual to the door weakness still plaguing him. Mrs. Hudson came out of her apartment when she heard the door open. "Oh Sherlock, it's so good to see you, you silly boy! Don't you ever scare me like that again. How could you think I wouldn't want to be your friend? Don't you know you're like a son to me?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I need to talk to John for a while. I'll see you later." although his statement came across rudely, the kiss on her check let her know how happy he was to hear her words.

Still not up to normal, he held on to the rail ascending the steps one at a time. He reached his door, took a deep breath, then opened it. Deciding not to take his coat off and using it as a shield again any emotional pain he might feel during the discussion, he walked to his chair and gently settled into it. He heard John moving in the kitchen preparing tea, "I'll have one also." Sherlock announced.

John whipped around, "You're back."

"Obviously."

The tea kettle that began to whistle was ignored by John.

"Are you going to get that, John?"

"What? Oh, tea. Yes, you wanted a cup." John turned to prepare the tea. When it had steeped appropriately, he poured it into their usual mugs. John bought them in, handing Sherlock's to him and taking his own to his chair.

They sat in silence for a while until John said, "I didn't think Mycroft would let you return while I still resided here. Does he know you're here?"

"Mycroft dropped me off and will have me picked up when we're through with our discussion. He neither tells me what to do or with whom to do it."

"Are you going to stay with him now?"

"This is my home, John. Mycroft and I each have our own work and need time to ourselves. Whenever we can, we'll spend time together, however, with our situation, it wouldn't bode well for either of us if we lived together. That is why I'm here."

"You wish me to leave?"

"I wish to talk about where you and I go from here," Sherlock corrected.

John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock held up his hand. "No, let me finish. You know I don't understand emotions like others, but I do understand anger. This was the third time that you beat me severely enough that I had to be admitted to the hospital. The first was leaving without telling you I was alive, I understand that. The second I still feel I deserve. I was high, and my mouth was responsible for your wife's death."

"You're not…." John began but stopped when Sherlock held up his hand again.

"I'm not a fool, John. Exposing people is what I do, that time it resulted in Mary's death and I will always believe it. This last time I asked a question out of concern. Perhaps it was an insensitive question, but still only a question."

"I was drunk," John mumbled.

With annoyance, Sherlock said. "Being drunk doesn't excuse your behavior!" The silence after his loud assertion was deafening. John ducked his head while Sherlock took a minute to regain his composure.

"John, I don't mind you getting me to eat and sleep, or when you help me control my comments because I don't understand some social situation. However, you tried to pressure me into choosing between you and Mycroft. I chose my brother and after a while, you returned knowing my choice to live here stating that you could accept our love. But, with one drunken outburst, you showed how you truly felt."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. What I said I didn't mean and what did will never be able to ask you to forgive. I know my drinking is out of control, and I'm investigating programs to help with both my drinking and anger. I'm working on getting the funds together to be accepted into one as they are expensive. Since your overdose, I haven't had a drink. I know I caused your overdose."

"No, that was my own doing. I was too stubborn to see I truly had friends who care about me. I wish to move back home but refuse to be your punching bag again or allow your view of my lifestyle to push me away from the ones who love me. You may remain in my life or not as you wish, but do not expect me to give up Mycroft. If you can't accept this, please find another place to stay. However, if you truly mean what you say, then you are welcome to stay. Also, don't let your pride prevent you from accepting Mycroft's help with the cost of your recovery. I'll be at Mycroft's and return here in a few weeks as I still need someone to help me frequently. If you're still here, I'll accept that as the evidence you wish to make our friendship work."

"I can be here you," John offered.

"No, thank you. I'm sorry but I don't trust you enough at this time." John started to speak but Sherlock spoke first, "No, don't make promises now. Think it through and call Mycroft for the help if that is what you decide. Now I must leave, I feel myself tiring again. John, I hope you still wish to be friends, but it's your decision to make."

Sherlock texted for the car before leaving. "I will be waiting for your decision," he said as he headed down the stairs. Holding tightly to the banister, he walked slowly, almost stumbling. The car was waiting for him, and he collapsed into its backseat from exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft lowered his brother's head on his lap while running his hand through his hair.

"Just tired. You were right. I'm not ready to do much right now and the stress of the situation was much more than I thought. However, I did tell him he needs to make a discussion and live by it. And yes, I told him that I will no longer be his punching bag."

Mycroft grinned, "I wouldn't have put it that way, but it about time you stood up to him about his behavior."

Lifting his head up to look into those loving eyes, "Mikey. If he calls, can you arrange for him to enter an alcohol treatment center and ensure his job when he is released, please."

Sherlock's puppy dog eyes had Mycroft laughing. "I can never say no to you. There is this place but it a little distance from here."

"And you would be happy if I didn't visit." It was more a statement than a question.

"I believe that it would be better for both of you. They have an anger management program that's required for anyone who is admitted. Not seeing you will help him talk about his anger while at the same time you will have time to recuperate without being a concern for him."


	12. Chapter 12

The ringing of Mycroft's phone pulled his eyes from his brother to look at the caller ID. Answering it, "Yes, Dr. Watson." He looked at his brother and smiled. "Sherlock did mention it. I know a place, but the requirement of admission is attending anger management along with alcohol classes." He listened in silence. "Thirty days."

Although Sherlock couldn't hear what John was saying, he could hear the worry. "I'll see to it that your job will be secure when you return. I'll arrange your admission and ensure the payment then call you when arrangements are made," he voice changed to intimidating. "And Dr. Watson, I hope this works because I was serious about the repercussion of a repeat performance. Good-bye." Mycroft hung up.

"You didn't have to threaten him," Sherlock complained placing his head back on Mycroft's lap then placed his brother's hand on his head.

"Is this a hint, little brother," smiling he began to run his hand through his hair. It wasn't a threat but a reminder."

The rest of the ride was quiet as Mycroft gently continued to play with Sherlock's hair. As the car pulled into the driveway, "We're back now, let's get you in and back to bed. Can you make it, or do you want help?" Mycroft left the car to come around to his brother's door and help him out leaning most of his weight on his brother. "I assume that means that you want me to support you. Although, your assistance would be appreciated, love. You may be skin and bones but you're still difficult to move with all your sharp edges."

Being supported by his older brother, Sherlock moved toward the door. The steps he climbed felt like the Matterhorn. Falling into bed, he sighed with relief. "Clothes off, love," Mycroft said, helping him remove them. Once down to his pants and vest, Mycroft covered him, kissed his forehead, and said, "Sleep well. Text me if you need anything," placing the phone on the bedside table.

Reaching the door, Mycroft heard a whisper. "I love you so. Please, don't ever leave me, Mikey."

"Never love, never." He answers closing the door quietly.

The next month allowed the two lovers to share each other in every way once Sherlock's strength returned. Greg brought over some of the hardest non-solvable cases that the two brothers fought over with game of deduction while even managing to solve some. They cooked together, watched many of Mycroft's old movies which Sherlock came to enjoy, and talked for hours.

But the night was their favorite time. Before Sherlock could do anything because of his ribs, they would love each other orally. One night after Mycroft came home from work, the house was dark except for candles heading up the stairs. At the top, he heard water splashing and found his little brother surrounded by bubbles. "Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open, join me." Sherlock offered his hand and Mycroft quickly joined him.

The water was hot but enjoyable. The two washed each other while sharing kisses and caressing. When Sherlock stood, he grabbed a soft bath sized towel before signaling for his brother to stand. Gently the detective dried him and wrapped him in a thick, soft warmed robe. He quickly dried himself, putting on a matching robe.

Offering his hand once more, he led Mycroft into the sitting room where a candlelit table was laid out. Silver domed trays were before each place with other scattered on the table beside them. Pulling out a chair, he had his brother sit kissing him deeply.

When Mycroft pulled back and started to ask, "Sherlock, why?" The kiss stopped, and a deep rich voice said, "Let me take care of you tonight."

Removing the small dome reveal a starter of grilled scallops with tomato chutney and roasted peppers. "This looks wonderful," Mycroft said as he sipped his wine. With a satisfactory smile, he said, "I see you have been raiding my wine cellar. I didn't know you knew that much about wine."

"Cook helped I have to admit." Sherlock took a sip also, "She does understand wines." Opening the second silver dome, the chilled watercress soup with dressed Asian pear and garden peas had Mycroft giving a pleased, "Excellent."

Small talk about their day accompanied them as the soup was consumed. Sherlock enjoyed watching his brother appreciating his food but regretted the teasing of the past. Raising, the detective delivered the main course. "Know you have a hard time finding this dish at time of year, but the cook was great with my request."

The meal was squab pigeon, pearl barley and truffle risotto, foie gras, and hay-smoked offal brochette, "Oh love, this is wonderful." Mycroft proclaimed, inhaling the aroma with pleasure. The second bottle of wine was opened to go with the supper causing Mycroft to raise his eyebrows. "This is perfect."

"I researched each item and wine. I hope it was appropriate," Sherlock admitted.

"You did well little brother." The men ate slowly savoring each other's company and the food. Mycroft was surprised how much Sherlock was eating. Although he had started the meal with less on his plate, he was eating every bit of it.

After the main meal was over, Sherlock once more offered his hand to his brother. He led him to the couch and sat touching as much as possible of him. With a foot, the detective pulled a small wheeled table to him. Some of Mycroft's best brandy was on it with two more covered domes.

When the last two domes were raised, they revealed a dessert of Ricotta pancakes with strawberry compote and homemade chocolate spread. Sherlock cut off a piece and fed it to his brother. "Oh, this is heavenly. Remind me to give Cook a large bonus this paycheck. The men fed each other until the dessert was finished. Pushing the table away after pouring each of them two fingers, he asked. "I love everything you have done, but may I ask what the occasion?"

"I went for my doctor's checkup today," Sherlock smirked raising one eye seductively.

"Oh?" Then suddenly, " _Oh_. Your restrictions are lifted."

"Yes."

"And that means, we can?"

"Oh yes. Shall we retire to the boudoir?" Sherlock tried for a sexy voice as he held out his hand. Once taken he led his lover into the bedroom where more candles illuminated the room and rose petals covered the bed. On the end table was a bottle of oil.

"Pretty sure of yourself, were you?" Mycroft teased.

Instead of answering, Sherlock pushed him on the bed and began to undo his brother's buttons. Once the shirt was open Mycroft slid it off. Sherlock kissed down his chest, stopping at the nipples to suck on each one. Mycroft's moans encouraged him to continue. When he reached the pants, he used his teeth to undo the zipper. Lifting his feet, Mycroft helped his brother pull off his pants. Sherlock continued kissing along the thighs before touching his brother's penis.

"This isn't fair," Mycroft complained in between breaths. "You're still dressed."

Sherlock stool to quickly undress before returning to bed. Kissing and licking Mycroft's penis, he suddenly swallowed it down. Mycroft began running his fingers through Sherlock's hair unexpectedly "You need to stop, or I'll come."

Sherlock stopped, "I need you now." With this, he handed Mycroft the oil.

Warming the oil in his hands, Mycroft began to open his brother, kissing his him as he did. Sherlock beginning to beg his brother to take him now. Once the detective was opened enough, Mycroft gently entered him. Mycroft played Sherlock like a violin. They moved together like a musician mesmerized by his music, their cries of joy rang out as they came together.

"I love you so Mikey and am so sorry I tried to leave. Never again." Sherlock whispered in Mycroft's ear as they laid in each other arms in an aftermath glow.

"And I, you. My heart couldn't take losing you." Mycroft whispered back before they both fell asleep comforted by each other's arms.


	13. Chapter 13

The month passed quickly with Sherlock healing both physically and mentally. He no longer feared that he was making his friends support him without their consent. However, he still worried about the effects the discovery of their love could have on Mycroft who assured him that he would always love him no matter what happened.

Mycroft and Sherlock had spent as much time as possible together, cooking and sharing the meal after (much to the chagrin of cook who kitchen would never be the same), snuggling on the couch while reading or watching moves, and filling the night with their moans of joy.

After a night whose memories had to last until Mycroft return from a conference for the next three weeks, it was now time for Sherlock to return to Baker Street. He wanted to be there for John who was being released today.

Sherlock had accompanied Mycroft to the airport, and almost delayed his brother's departure by wrapping himself around Mycroft and snogging him senseless in the car and its black tinted windows. Returning home, Mrs. Hudson had greeted him with a hug while crying.

"Are you back for good, now?" she asked him.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm finding it hard to breath as you are crushing my ribs." He said moving out of the hug. "Yes, I am. Mycroft is out of town so you'll have to put up with me and my idiosyncrasies once more."

"That makes me so happy. I bring up some tea and biscuits for you. Just go on up," she shooed him upstairs.

Entering his flat, he stopped dead in the door, "MRS. HUDSON, what did you do?" He bellowed down the steps.

She hurried up the stairs, "What's wrong dear?"

"How could you do it? You committee the murder of my dust. And where are my books and papers? You cleaned and even washed Billy. How could you?"

She patted him on the shoulder, "It was time, my dear. The books are on the shelves and the papers stacked neatly on your desk. As for the dust, honestly, Sherlock how can you breathe with the dust. You were sick and germs aren't good for you. Besides, I'm sure it wouldn't be long and it will look as bad as before. Now sit down and have some tea and biscuits."

Moaning the loss of his dust, he took the tea she offered.

"I can tell that Mycroft and you are back together again. You look well rested and happy. Will Dr. Watson be returning?" she asked a bit of displeasure in her voice.

"I'm waiting to find out myself." Sherlock had ignored the tone.

"Well, he better watch his p's and q's, is all I have to say. Now dear, relax. I'll be just downstairs if you need anything."

"I don't need a babysitter, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock shouted after her.

"I know dear. Not your babysitter so just relax now." She called back to the annoyed detective.

"Just like you're not my housekeeper either," he mumbled flopping into his chair.

He was now pacing and waiting to see if John would return to Baker Street as he hadn't heard from him since John was admitted in the clinic Mycroft had set up.

Sherlock was about to replace his research equipment on the kitchen table when he heard a key turning in the lock of the downstairs' door. He stopped and listened to John's hesitant footsteps coming up the steps then pausing at the flat's door before knocking.

"Come in John," Sherlock called out as he brought the tea he had made for both of them while waiting for his 'friend's' arrival. He handed John a cup before sitting in his chair nodding towards John's, "Join me?".

Both men were silent as they sipped their tea. John placed his cup down and sighed, "I'd like to come back. This is the only place I have ever felt was a true home."

"You're always welcome here, but John, will you accept me to be as I am? I will no long allow you to physically or verbally abuse me nor allow you to come between my brother and myself. You don't have to accept us but you do have to allow us to live as we wish."

"I will never be able to apologize or make up for beating you but would like to try. I do accept your and Mycroft's relationship. It does make me wish that I had a portion of the love he has for you for myself. The clinic helped me to begin to understand how my jealousy of you two was fueling my anger toward you. I plan to continue attending meetings for both my alcoholism and for anger management. Please understand if I leave for a walk to cool down after a disagreement with you, I need time to regain my composure before talking about what is wrong. I've decided that it's the coping measure that fits me best."

"You owe me nothing but I hope you'll remain my friend. After the pain I caused you with the fall, I can't expect you not to get angry at times," Sherlock assured him.

"No, Sherlock, that's no reason for what I did more than once. I promise to work and be more understanding and less condescending toward you. I never meant to make you feel demeaned or as if you were less than human. Calling you a freak was unforgivable." John explained. "I thought I was trying to help you fit in as others wanted you to be, forgetting you weren't like others. You are special and because of that, it makes you who you are. I never want you to change that."

Sherlock laughed, "John, I know I'm a pain in the ass at times. When you are helping me to fit in because I forget that I am dealing with people, it is fine. Actually, it was you who helped me understand that emotions were not something to avoid and because of that, allowed me to see loving Mycroft was acceptable. I don't mind your 'A bit not good' or an elbow in my side when I get out of line. It helps me grow, but please remember I'm not a child and I object to being treated as one."

The men sat once more in silence each with their own thoughts. John looked around the room, "It's cleaner than I've ever seen it. No files or books on the floor and can actually see the kitchen table. What happened?"

Sherlock let out a snort. "Mrs. Hudson, of course. She destroyed my dust also. That woman always states that she's not our housekeeper but just be away for a while and she takes it upon herself to be just that." The look of annoyance on Sherlock's face had John start to grin that soon became a smile. Before long, Sherlock began to smile also before both of them begin giggling that turned into full laughs with tears running down their face.

Sherlock's phone rang cause them to try to stop laughing. When his voice was under control, Sherlock answered, "Yes, Graham. What? Where? I'm coming," his started to end the conversation making it clear he was needed. Looking at John, eyes raised, a nod and he corrected, "We're coming."

Hanging up, he jumped from his seat, the glee in his voice, "A locked room murder mystery. Come on John, the game is on."

Grabbing his coat, Sherlock led with a smiling John down the stairs.


End file.
